Israel had a nation-wide bomb drill yesterday. When the sirens went off everyone started running towards the doors. All 250 students had 60 seconds to get into one of the 3 facilities, and for the oldest students to get their first aid vests out of storage. The shelters were deep, many flights of stairs under the ground, and surprisingly bright and clean. Everywhere were piled books, boards, and benches, and the far wall had black and white boards. I was nervous and unsure what to expect, but it was more casual than an American fire-drill. As soon as we got settled one of the teachers started singing Purim songs, getting everyone clapping and competing to sing the loudest and silliest. The whole thing lasted only five or 10 minutes, and then we all returned to class. It was a clear reminder for me that the comfort I feel here is clouded by a backdrop of suffering to which these amazingly sweet and bright students are in small ways already being exposed.
Over shabbat last week Abe and I went on a walk in the fields by the river on the outskirts of town. The valley we live in is just stunning. Beyond the town stretch lush green fields sprinkled with proud red wildflowers, and sliced through by a river hidden by a thriving forest of eucalyptus. Beyond are mountains rising suddenly from earth, behind which the sun sets, and if you set out around 4 or 5pm you can catch some of the most beautiful views. We wandered through the fields as the sky turned from bright blue to dusty pink, listening to the howl of the coyotes as they awoke and began to call each other to the river below us, and watching as the stars began to twinkle, free of the overpowering light of the sun. Suddenly, we turned to find ourselves face to face with a coyote perhaps only a few feet from where we stood, a silent silhouette hunched in the darkening field. For a moment that seemed to last forever we locked gazes and my heart was caught in my throat, and then it turned and sprinted for cover under the trees. I know that they are more scared of us than we are of them, but it was certainly terrifying and thrilling.
My volunteering position in the farm continues to be fun and unproductive. I've made friends with a kind and enthusiastic man named David. He takes great pleasure in practicing his English and spoiling his daughter, who goes to my school and comes into the farm on the days I volunteer. Last week, David and I prepared a huge pot of sweet corn with lemon for when his daughter came. Then he gave me a taste tour of the herb garden, and we sipped tea made from the mint and lemongrass and practiced each other's languages. Somehow we got onto the subject of anise, a popular root vegetable here that is shaped like a hand and tastes like licorice, and when I told him I cook a lot but never with this particular plant, he decided he needed to intervene. Excitedly, he grabbed a big plastic bag and a knife, and we went out to the garden. He dashed across the rows, chopping big flowers of broccoli here, huge stalks of swiss chard there, a beautiful sweet potato, and 5 big bulbs of anise, throwing them into a bag that strained against its contents. At every turn I tried to tell him it was more than enough, but at this point he was on a roll and started back to the kitchen to throw a variety of dried spices into the bag, tossing rapid-fire directions at me for how to prepare this all in a soup. I got the distinct feeling of being a daughter or friend or guest much more than a volunteer. I indeed went home to cook one of the most delicious soups I have ever made, perhaps because the ingredients were so fresh. And today as I was leaving school I heard someone shouting out HOWS THE SOUP from across the school yard, and I turned around to see David picking up his daughter! I of course ran over to report back my appreciation.
Another day last week, one of my roommates and I were walking to the shuk (outdoor market) when we were stopped by the parent of one of my students. Where are you going? he exclaimed, as if we had the audacity to do anything but visit him. We have to make it to the shuk before it closes! we protested, worried about the time, but he wore us down, insisting that we sit down to dinner with them before heading on our way. They were so kind and funny, telling us stories of a woman from Cleveland that they managed to keep in contact despite the fact that they spoke no English and she spoke no Hebrew, and yelling at us when we put down our forks for any reason. They ended the night commanding us (as is the style with all invitations here) to come any time, and to bring our whole house to their tiny table. I am constantly reminded of the kindness and warmth of the people here, and how lucky I am to have a glimpse, however brief, into life here. Beit Shean truly is a special place.
A final fun anecdote- I have been going for extra lessons with my ulpan teacher to help me improve my Hebrew, but it mostly consists of her feeding me whatever sweets she most recently baked, and telling me about her grandchildren. She doesn't speak a word of English, and so when I don't understand a word and we can't figure it out together she usually calls one of her very fluent daughters, who more often then not is in the house and will appear from upstairs to explain it to me in English and then stay to chat. Very little work gets done, but it is a lot of fun. Are you sensing a theme here? Last week, I brought a roommate along and she was so pleased by the extra company she decided to take us to her neighbors house to pick lots of pomelos from their tree. It was huge, with fat low hanging yellow globes, and our 60 year old ulpan teacher started shaking it and shouting for us to run underneath its tangled branches and collect the falling fruit. It was so silly. We dragged home perhaps 20 pomelos, and took home 6. They were so sweet and juicy, with big smooth seeds like teeth.
Spring is in full swing, with every tree I pass blooming and smelling of honey. Our little rooftop garden is similarly flourishing. Some plants are surprising us with tender baby leaves, others with delicate flowers, still others are just starting to poke their heads out of the earth. We now have tomato, spinach, basil, mint, sheba, and a variety of flowers, and I am excited to continue to watch them grow. This weekend I plan to head to Jerusalem, and am looking forward to the change of pace.
Love to everyone back home!
Over shabbat last week Abe and I went on a walk in the fields by the river on the outskirts of town. The valley we live in is just stunning. Beyond the town stretch lush green fields sprinkled with proud red wildflowers, and sliced through by a river hidden by a thriving forest of eucalyptus. Beyond are mountains rising suddenly from earth, behind which the sun sets, and if you set out around 4 or 5pm you can catch some of the most beautiful views. We wandered through the fields as the sky turned from bright blue to dusty pink, listening to the howl of the coyotes as they awoke and began to call each other to the river below us, and watching as the stars began to twinkle, free of the overpowering light of the sun. Suddenly, we turned to find ourselves face to face with a coyote perhaps only a few feet from where we stood, a silent silhouette hunched in the darkening field. For a moment that seemed to last forever we locked gazes and my heart was caught in my throat, and then it turned and sprinted for cover under the trees. I know that they are more scared of us than we are of them, but it was certainly terrifying and thrilling.
My volunteering position in the farm continues to be fun and unproductive. I've made friends with a kind and enthusiastic man named David. He takes great pleasure in practicing his English and spoiling his daughter, who goes to my school and comes into the farm on the days I volunteer. Last week, David and I prepared a huge pot of sweet corn with lemon for when his daughter came. Then he gave me a taste tour of the herb garden, and we sipped tea made from the mint and lemongrass and practiced each other's languages. Somehow we got onto the subject of anise, a popular root vegetable here that is shaped like a hand and tastes like licorice, and when I told him I cook a lot but never with this particular plant, he decided he needed to intervene. Excitedly, he grabbed a big plastic bag and a knife, and we went out to the garden. He dashed across the rows, chopping big flowers of broccoli here, huge stalks of swiss chard there, a beautiful sweet potato, and 5 big bulbs of anise, throwing them into a bag that strained against its contents. At every turn I tried to tell him it was more than enough, but at this point he was on a roll and started back to the kitchen to throw a variety of dried spices into the bag, tossing rapid-fire directions at me for how to prepare this all in a soup. I got the distinct feeling of being a daughter or friend or guest much more than a volunteer. I indeed went home to cook one of the most delicious soups I have ever made, perhaps because the ingredients were so fresh. And today as I was leaving school I heard someone shouting out HOWS THE SOUP from across the school yard, and I turned around to see David picking up his daughter! I of course ran over to report back my appreciation.
Another day last week, one of my roommates and I were walking to the shuk (outdoor market) when we were stopped by the parent of one of my students. Where are you going? he exclaimed, as if we had the audacity to do anything but visit him. We have to make it to the shuk before it closes! we protested, worried about the time, but he wore us down, insisting that we sit down to dinner with them before heading on our way. They were so kind and funny, telling us stories of a woman from Cleveland that they managed to keep in contact despite the fact that they spoke no English and she spoke no Hebrew, and yelling at us when we put down our forks for any reason. They ended the night commanding us (as is the style with all invitations here) to come any time, and to bring our whole house to their tiny table. I am constantly reminded of the kindness and warmth of the people here, and how lucky I am to have a glimpse, however brief, into life here. Beit Shean truly is a special place.
A final fun anecdote- I have been going for extra lessons with my ulpan teacher to help me improve my Hebrew, but it mostly consists of her feeding me whatever sweets she most recently baked, and telling me about her grandchildren. She doesn't speak a word of English, and so when I don't understand a word and we can't figure it out together she usually calls one of her very fluent daughters, who more often then not is in the house and will appear from upstairs to explain it to me in English and then stay to chat. Very little work gets done, but it is a lot of fun. Are you sensing a theme here? Last week, I brought a roommate along and she was so pleased by the extra company she decided to take us to her neighbors house to pick lots of pomelos from their tree. It was huge, with fat low hanging yellow globes, and our 60 year old ulpan teacher started shaking it and shouting for us to run underneath its tangled branches and collect the falling fruit. It was so silly. We dragged home perhaps 20 pomelos, and took home 6. They were so sweet and juicy, with big smooth seeds like teeth.
Spring is in full swing, with every tree I pass blooming and smelling of honey. Our little rooftop garden is similarly flourishing. Some plants are surprising us with tender baby leaves, others with delicate flowers, still others are just starting to poke their heads out of the earth. We now have tomato, spinach, basil, mint, sheba, and a variety of flowers, and I am excited to continue to watch them grow. This weekend I plan to head to Jerusalem, and am looking forward to the change of pace.
Love to everyone back home!
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